Just a fluffy bit from "Army of Ghosts" before our heroes venture anywhere near that awful Torchwood tower.

Once again, although this story is meant to remain within the TV show canon, it's written as a sequel to my stories, "The Girl in the Stalking Spaceship", "Age of Bronze", "Lantern Extinguished", "Gravity Schmavity", "Love and Monsters", and "Show Her, Tell Her"

Disclaimer: Surprise, surprise, I don't own Doctor Who. Nor do I get anything from writing these stories--except wonderful, constructive reviews! Wink, wink; nudge, nudge ;)


The TARDIS gave them a bit of a bumpier ride than usual, the Doctor and Rose being tossed to the floor in fits of laughter. As the ship stilled, the Doctor crawled quickly to Rose's side, grasping her shoulders as she lay on the grating, fixing her with a look of mock-seriousness.

"Rose, whatever's out there," he began, as though bracing her to enter a battle, "stick close to me. They may try to separate us for interrogation, but we can't give in. They may torture us, they--"

"Doctor," Rose interrupted with a smile, "it's - my - MUM!"

"Exactly, they may torture me," he corrected, "they may--"

"Shut up!" she yelled through her laughter.

"I'm serious! There's never any telling with her. She could be in a mood! She could--"

Rose grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down to her, into a kiss.

The Doctor pulled back slightly, once released. "I highly doubt she'd do that," was his reply, still feigning complete seriousness.

"Aarugh!" Rose sighed loudly, slapping his chest. "Just, gemme up off this floor," she demanded with a smile.

The Doctor jumped to his feet, and, taking both of Rose's hands, helped her up as well.

"I'm gonna go grab my laundry," Rose said, moving to go, but the Doctor tugged her gently back around, still holding her hands.

"Do you have to?" he whined with a smile.

"Well, we're here, aren't we?" Rose argued. "Why else did we come, if we just visited a few days ago?"

"Because you asked," answered the Doctor. "But you can change your mind!" he offered helpfully. "And, actually," he continued, releasing one of her hands so that he could rub the back of his neck, "for your Mum, it's been about three weeks. And we didn't call, so she won't be expecting us."

"She'll've heard the TARDIS," Rose observed.

"Not likely, since we're parked across the Estate."

"Doesn't change the fact," said Rose, pulling away from the Doctor and heading towards her room, "that my clothes need washin'!" she called over her shoulder.

"Now, just think about this," the Doctor said, pursuing her down the corridor. "We could go find a new washing machine," he offered. "Oh! Or we could go back to the laundromat! You could pick a different scent this time--what did you end up picking last time? Rose?"

She had completely ignored him, entering her room and pulling out her backpack. She set it on her bed, then moved to grab her clothes from the hamper. At the Doctor's last question, she grabbed a purple top from her stack of clean clothes, and tossed it at him as he stood in her doorway.

The Doctor snatched the garment out of the air, before it could hit him in the face. He sniffed it. He smiled. "Pink!" he exclaimed. "Oh, that's just perfect. And not a single piece was actually colored pink. Brilliant!"

Rose smiled at him, despite herself, as she finished transferring her clothes from the hamper to the backpack. "Oh!" she said as if just remembering something. She moved quickly to her dresser and opened the top drawer. "Almost forgot the--" she paused as she withdrew the alien metal sculpture. "The, what's it called?" she asked the Doctor.

"Bezoolium," he said from behind the top he was still sniffing.

"Would you stop it?" she said, turning to him, hands on hips.

"What? You asked," he defended.

"No, I mean," she reached out and attempted to retrieve her top from him, but he held it just out of reach, "quit smellin' my clothes. Yeah, it's pink. Scent identified."

"Oh, but that's just the one you picked," said the Doctor, hands now in pockets, still leaning on her doorframe. "There are so many other nuances. The fabric, the detergents. Faint traces that the laundering didn't remove, like the tea you'd spilled on it, and, of course, you."

"Me?" Rose asked.

"It smells like you," the Doctor confirmed.

"You sayin' I smell?" She was teasing now.

"I'm saying," he said, pushing away from the doorframe to walk slowly towards her, "that you, naturally, have a particular, distinct--"

"Smell?" she concluded for him, with an eyebrow raised accusingly.

By this time, he'd gotten close enough to her that he just had to bend ever so slightly to inhale the scent of her hair. He almost whispered in her ear, "More a unique . . . something."

"You mean," Rose replied, quite still as he nuzzled gently against her ear, "a 'something' that even you don't have a name for?"

"It's a scent," he said, "and a bit of a taste," he sneaked a quick kiss to her neck, just below her ear.

"And, this is a good thing," Rose whispered, bringing her hands up to the lapels of his suit jacket.

"Very," he replied, his lips against her jaw.

Rose tipped her head back, her eyes closed, as the Doctor brought his hands to her hips. While he kissed his way across her neck, his fingers toyed with the edge of her light blue jumper, brushing over the skin at her waist. Rose's breath hitched at the additional contact, and she grasped the material under her hands, fisting it as she clung to him.

Suddenly, the Doctor brought his hands up to hers. "Don't," he said, coaxing his jacket free of her grip. Without further explanation, he entwined their fingers, bringing their hands to their sides, as he finally kissed her mouth.

The Doctor kept Rose's hands firmly in his own, despite her gentle tugging, but let her have free reign over the kiss.

When Rose at last broke away for air, the Doctor chided, "And you said you wanted to see your Mum."

Eyes suddenly open, and mouth agape, Rose wrenched her hands free of the Doctor's and shoved him back towards her doorway. "You!" she shouted. "Why, you, you," she was at a loss for words. She could hardly believe the Doctor's arrogant grin. "Arrogant Time Lord," she accused. That being the best she could do verbally, she grabbed a pillow from her bed, and chucked it at him with a smile.

"Hey!" he shouted, ducking around the doorframe, out into the corridor. "I'm just saying, you said," he defended, staying well out of reach. "I was all for going somewhere else, which we can still do, if you'd rather," he offered, from his concealed position. "Or we could just stay here; wait 'til she comes beating down the door."

"Oh, no, we're goin' to see Mum," said Rose, turning back to her bed to zip up her backpack and retrieve the Bezooli-whatsit from where she'd dropped it when he'd started kissing her. As she walked out into the corridor, past a shrinking Doctor guarding his face from further pillow assaults, she added with a bit of a sly look, "An' you've certainly lost the right to any more delays."

"Any?" he asked, catching a strap of her backpack and tugging against her departure.

"Any," she replied, pulling the pack away, and heading out through the control room.

While Rose attempted a serious expression, and the Doctor tried to maintain a pout, neither could help but smile as they stepped out of the TARDIS together, into the surprisingly bright sunshine of a London morning.


The end.

If you'd like another fluffy interlude from "Army of Ghosts", you can go read my "Allons-y, Jackie Tyler". Otherwise, the "Doomsday" tag is next on the agenda . . . "Through the Gloom and Doom". Sounds cheery, doesn't it?